


On the Rocks

by kaelliope



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Kissing, Fluff and Humor, Other, dw its wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23492074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaelliope/pseuds/kaelliope
Summary: Elliott Witt was never one for formality.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	On the Rocks

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to kind of take place some time around the Grand Soirée event. So I guess this includes a bit of my interpretation of the lore behind the event???  
> I just wanted to write our babes drunk kissing mkay 
> 
> And I was just listening to ken ashcorps old music.  
> if you know, you know ;)

Elliott Witt was never one for formality. 

Formal wear—cool, but annoying. Formal behavior—just annoying. Formal events— _extra_ annoying. 

He was supposed to be ‘formal’, but after several glasses of assorted drinks, basic formality began to escape him. For a moment, he felt a little ashamed about being thirty, dressed in a suit and then getting wasted like a college frat boy— but shame was quickly washed down with another glass of _something._ He stopped keeping track a while ago. And regardless, he hated these people. He had come to hate the war criminals who ran the Games. When he first signed his contract, he was largely unaware of the realities of the Syndicate execs. Little could be done now, though. The contract was signed— he was effectively imprisoned for the next decade. 

At least he wasn’t alone in wanting to drink away all of his sorrows. 

His eccentric teammate accompanied him on the many trips to the bar. He could always rely on them for good company. Their affinity for alcohol nearly topped his own. Elliott loudly tried to explain to them that you _sip_ champagne, you don’t _slam_ it. They were a ‘cute drunk’ too, giggling and hiccuping at all of his very, very, _very_ bad jokes. They would shush him and snicker when he made the inevitable loud, off-color remark. 

The pair turned heads for all the _wrong_ reasons, but Elliott didn’t care. _Fuck ‘em._ He felt drunk, high and totally _in love_ . He knew it was the beer goggles— or rather, the brandy goggles. After all, half of their face was obscured by an elegant mask. But from what he could see, he could tell, they were _hot._ Shoulder-length locks were curled perfectly and bounced with their giddy excitement. Faded cascades of scarring ran down their cheeks and neck— the most beautiful scars he’d ever seen. A long, formal skirt hugged perfect hips. Sexy leather gloves would tap his arm or fidget with their glass. 

And their _adorable_ accent sounded even better all messy and slurred. It was an amazing ego boost having an attractive companion follow him around like a puppy dog, hanging on every word. 

It was half-past two and the party was long since over. Sponsors left, whispering to each other about the uncouth behavior of their gladiators. The gladiators slowly filed out in their little cliques— some inebriated, others embarrassed and sober. 

The two remarkably intoxicated guests, however, had gotten lost wandering around the sprawling estate. Despite their stumbling and raucous conversations about pork and barbecue, the pair somehow managed to evade security— finding themselves on a secluded balcony. 

The view was amazing and Elliott wished he could see straight to take it all in properly. The estate belonged to some slimy Syndicate figurehead— who owned the whole damn _planet_. Moons shone brightly through the technicolor atmosphere. Stars winked and raced across the sky. A dense and mountainous tropical wilderness extended over the horizon. 

And here Elliott was, above this gorgeous view with the most _amazing_ person in the _entire_ universe. 

He had been loud and sloppy, now it was time for the emotional stage of drunkenness. 

“This is like, really fuckin’ amazing. Like _wow_. Whatta night...” He choked and stumbled on the words. 

“ _Yes_.” His companion snorted, still sipping on a drink. 

“You made it amazing, y’know? Idon’t even fuckin’ care ‘bout that _stupid_ award. It's jus’ like, cool being with you like this… We need to hang out more ”

“Yah.” They nodded enthusiastically and turned to him, wearing a goofy grin. Elliott wished they would take off the mask so he could see the rest of their face, gaze into their eyes or admire the drunken glow of their cheeks.

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. The contact on the screen was fuzzy and hardly recognizable to him but he eventually figured it was his manager. She never slept and was probably already reaming him out for his terrible behavior at the event. No doubt, sponsors had already complained about the once admirable _Mirage_ getting shitfaced and making a fool of himself… and them. Not to mention, he had spent a lot of time with _‘that weird masked savage’_ who was already shunned by the establishment— despite their talent. 

“FUCK YOU!!” He screamed. 

In an explosive motion, Elliott threw his phone off the balcony. The performance was received with a choking fit as his companion spat out their drink. 

“Aw fuck. Are you okay?” Elliott hugged them awkwardly, the drunkard's way of performing CPR.

“Yes.” They rasped finally and continued laughing. 

“Fuck my _manager._ All that matters right now is you baby,” he slurred and gave them a twisted grin. 

Bloodhound grinned back and choked a bit. 

“ _Helvíti_ _þér_!!” They announced and weakly tossed their glass off the balcony. “I will give up drinking just for you— _baby.”_ They hiccuped. 

“Oh that’s cute, but I love drinkin’ with ya.” He laughed and wrapped his arms around them again. 

The pair swayed and giggled together for a moment.

“This is _soooo_ romantic.” Hound mused in a strange voice. 

“Yeah it is.” 

They pulled away to face him. Their plush lips looked even more red and delicious. 

“Fuck. Take this thing off.” Elliott pawed at the edge of the ivory, Venetian mask. 

Surprisingly, they didn’t hesitate and removed it. 

He audibly gasped as they looked back up at him, bare-faced. He expected the most gorgeous, beautiful angel and somehow his expectations were surpassed.

“You’re _so_ beautiful.” He croaked and clasped his hands around flushed cheeks. His head was spinning. 

They smiled at him— the biggest, goofiest smile. Their apple red cheeks were so warm and _cute._ The formation of scarring that ran across their face almost looked like pretty lace. Elliott wanted to _die_ for them. Well, he had already— technically— but he would do it again in a heartbeat. He’d do it a thousand times. 

Bloodhound tossed the mask over the railing of the balcony. 

“Fuck. Don’ you need that?” Elliott slurred in a concerned voice. 

They shrugged. “All that matters is you, _baby_.” Deep and sparkling eyes were half-lidded as a lazy grin began to spread across their perfect face. 

“ _Ahaha_.” He was flattered. Actually, he was a lot of things. Bloodhound’s charm and all of the alcohol-induced a deadly set of emotions for his poor, lonely heart. 

He pulled them in and smashed his face into theirs. Wet, sloppy lips met each other. Hound hummed and threw their arms around his shoulders. It didn’t take long until the pair started tonguing at each other. The kiss was _nasty_ by most standards, but Elliott’s wasted brain thought it was the most romantic thing ever. His mind briefly wandered to the classic silver screen kisses of old. 

Hound was just as into it as their hips bumped against his. They fervently sucked on his lip and their gloved hands slowly scratched through his hair. 

The two drunks pulled away from each other, panting. 

“ _Fuck_. You kiss like a movie star,” Elliott rasped, nearly out of breath. 

“What does tha’ even mean?” Bloodhound giggled. 

“Idunno,” he slurred and pet his hands down their hips, under the jacket of their suit. He couldn’t resist and squeezed their ass through the luxurious fabric of their skirt. 

They gasped, excited, and smiled at him. “Oooh, do that _again_ ,” they cooed. 

He obeyed and kissed their flushed lips as he clumsily groped them. The pair were caught up in the romance of it all. To Elliott, it was a scene from a movie. To Bloodhound, it was the reunion of two lost, reincarnated souls. To an outsider, it was the most bizarre and cringe-inducing display.

And that outsider stood in the doorway to the balcony. She snapped one photo to hang over their heads— a video would be a little too much, even for her. She was a sucker for _cringe_ and seeing her once noble teammate getting their face sucked off by the most pathetic man she’d ever met was pretty bad. The pair were so drunk she was shocked neither of them had dropped dead from immediate liver failure. 

“That’s disgusting,” she said flatly. She couldn’t take any more of it. She had been searching for hours for their dumbasses— but somehow wasn’t surprised to find the two swapping saliva on the balcony. 

“Wha’ are you doing here.” Elliott slowly turned and glared at her. “You don’ live here.” 

“Yeah and neither do you.” Renee snapped. “It's time to go. I've been looking for both of you for _hours_.” 

“No. We're gonna stay,” he slurred and Hound let out a strange high-pitched snort. 

“No. We’re leaving. _You_ are leaving.” 

“No. You’re just a jealous bitch because we have true love and you don’t.” He sounded _ridiculous_ while drunk. Renee was starting to regret not taking a video. 

“I'm not jealous. Now come on.” She hissed. Deep down, maybe, she was a _little_ jealous. Yes, the two were intoxicated, but at least they seemed to be genuine with each other. Alcohol was the serum of truth after all— revealing Bloodhound as a giggly, fun-loving person and revealing Elliott as desperately lonely, but sincere. 

“UGh.” Elliott sighed dramatically and nearly fell over with Hound in tow. 

“I have a picture.” Renee held her phone up and taunted, trying to motivate them to leave. 

“I don’ careeeeee. We are in truuuue love and nothing else matters.” 

“We’re gonna get marrie’ tomorrow.” Bloodhound hiccuped—sounding like a giddy teenage girl, not a stoic seasoned warrior. 

“Oh my god yes.” The pair snorted and giggled. 

“Oh my god _no_. Now come on.” She couldn’t help smiling a bit, the couple was kind of cute, in an odd way. 

“You’re not my mom!” Elliott awkwardly flailed his arm, trying to shoo her off. 

“Okay well… I think you need some rest before the wedding.” Condescension dripped from her voice. 

“Oh…okay yeah.” He turned back and said something unintelligible to Hound. They nodded and hugged his chest in a fit of laughter. 

Renee managed… somehow... to get the drunkards home safely. The ride back to the hotel was excruciating. They would _not_ get off of each other. The sound of slopping, snickering and lewd conversations in the back seat made her want to shove a pen into her ear. When she caught Bloodhound unbuttoning their leman’s dress shirt, she had to reach back and slap the two away from each other. She figured it was all worth it, however, when she would show sober-Hound that awful, embarrassing photo. 

Her sadistic desire was fulfilled as she came knocking on the door of their room. It was late in the afternoon of the following day. 

“What,” they snarled after swinging the door open. Their eyes were sunken and their hair was frazzled, poor thing still looked hungover. 

“Just wanted to check up on you.” Renee couldn't hide her twisted grin.

“I’m fine.” Hound croaked and invited her in. 

“Really?” She sat down on the sofa. Blankets were littered everywhere along with empty glasses of water. Hangover recovery was _definitely_ still in effect. 

“Mm.” They mumbled and slumped down next to her. 

“Do remember… the party?” 

“Mm barely.” Hound stared blankly at the wall. 

“Do you remember...this?” She whipped out her phone and showed them the picture in all of its cringy glory. 

Bloodhound’s expression immediately turned from one of apathy to one of shock. She swore she heard their stomach drop. 

“That’s _you_.” She taunted and pointed to the disheveled figure wrapped in Elliott’s arms, mouth firmly attached to his. 

“Did anyone see?” They looked horrified and a tinge of guilt nagged at Renee. 

“Just me... but I could show Ajay.” That girl 

“No!” They yelped and grabbed her phone. The two laughed as she tried to wrestle it away from them, eventually succeeding.

“What were you thinking?” She sighed and chuckled, exasperated.

“I don’t— don’t… I don’t know!! But it does not mean anything!” 

“Right. Well, I s’pose you don’t remember the part where you said that you were gonna get married to... _him_.” 

“I did not!” They rasped and glared at her.

“I should've taken a video.” 

“Exactly. You do not have proof of that. It didn’t happen— merely your imagination.” Bloodhound grinned smugly. 

“Uh huh. Blame it on the time then. Weird shit always happens at 3 am.” Renee jested. Of course, she wasn’t planning on forgetting— and she would still show Ajay. How could she not? The photo was prime entertainment. 

“Indeed.” They nodded slowly, lost in thought. 

“Can you even imagine, though? You two...together?”

“ _Disgusting_.” They promptly informed her. 

“I’m never letting you around alcohol again— seeing how impaired your vision and judgment gets,” she mused flatly, shooting them a nasty grin. “And the shit you said in the car… I wish I could unhear it.”

“Oh… At least we did not go back to a room together.” Their expression was cross between regret and relief. 

“Yeah, you should pay me for that. I had to pull you off of him.”

Bloodhound shuddered. They regretted the kiss, but at the same time… they didn't. Maybe they didn’t remember everything that was said, but they did remember how they felt— _comfortable_. For a moment, they wished they snagged his number. 

“What.” Renee sensed the contemplative nature of their expression. “Please don’t tell me you want to call him… you can’t anyway. He said he threw away his phone.” 

“Ah.” 

They supposed they would have to wait until the next Game to confront _Mirage._ They didn’t know what to say— thank you for the amazing night, maybe? He would probably just laugh it off, embarrassed and regretful. Best case scenario: he wouldn’t remember a thing. Worst case scenario… there wasn’t one. 

Bloodhound decided they enjoyed his company— intoxicated or sober.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this stupid little light-hearted fic brightened your day. Things are really dark right now, but it will pass. Thanks for reading my shit as always <333 Stay safe.


End file.
